


Likely Suspect

by fauxpromises



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Partners-In-Crime Dynamic, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 14:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4709654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this was what making a deal with the devil was about, she stood absolutely no chance of backing out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Likely Suspect

**Author's Note:**

> A pre-canon vignette set in the late 1940's.

“ _Jesus_. Y'didn't tell me the cops came after you like _this_.”

His grip on her wrist tightened as the sound of footsteps passed below them. She didn't expect he was _afraid_ —rather, nothing seemed to frighten him in the short time she had known him. On the contrary, it appeared suspiciously as though he had intentions to protect her, and she felt caught between feeling flattered and indignant.

She didn't need to be protected, least of all from something she had gotten herself into voluntarily. Walked up and asked to be a part of, as it were.

Blue eyes roved over her startled expression with a touch of dry, condescending humor. “We're making off with things that don't belong to us, Kathryn—what exactly _did_ you expect?”

She pressed closer to him at the sound of a distant siren, likely unrelated, but elevated nerves had a way of taking precedent. But then, there was the added satisfaction of feeling a small intake of breath from him, because she knew very well that his sharp tongue had yet to devise a way to justify such responses to her.

And, given his generally mocking and arrogant disposition....who _wouldn't_ revel in that?

“Don't worry,” he finally spoke softly to her, the reassuring tone uncharacteristic. “They don't even know who they are looking for, so it will pass. Although...it is generally easier to keep a low profile _without_ the added company.”

The young woman's eyebrows came together in irritation, and though she wanted to retort loudly, she merely muttered in a self-conscious tone. “Well. If that's how it is, I can take a hint.”

She could hear his impatient sigh from her side, though she was busy glancing down out the window. By now they had emerged from the low table they had ducked under, an ugly piece of furniture in a style she couldn't quite place; he'd described it as avant-garde, with a tone she could only interpret as disgust.

“Don't be absurd. I never said I was _complaining_ , per se.” To her frustration, she caught sight of him sneaking in a smoke. One was offered to her, however, before she could properly voice her dissatisfaction. “Rather, just know that the fact that you draw attention can work _against_ us as well as for us.”

“I do _exactly_ like y'tell me, in case you didn't notice.” She smiled as she noticed the increasingly irritated expression on the Frenchman's face, this time as he slowly exhaled smoke. “Don't do nothin' that causes a scene.”  
  
“Oh, no. _Not_ falling for this one again. We've already come to a mutual understanding about this.”

The harsh edges in his face seemed to soften as she touched his arm playfully. “Can't blame me for tryin'. I mean—I did sorta think before that you were just bein' professional about it. _'You're very pretty, Kathryn. That's what makes you so perfect for this.'_ ”

He smirked at her feigning of his accent, but he seemed a bit conflicted about her open teasing on the subject. True to her nature, she felt a strong inclination to press the subject and see what the result would be.

“But now, I _do_ see that you sometimes get kinda tripped up, y'know? I think _maybe_ it would've gone smoother if you had your eyes on what you were doin' instead of me.” Her hand had made its way along his chest, coming to a rest at his tie. She couldn't help feeling fond of the businesslike fashion he conducted himself in, despite the completely illicit nature of what they did.

She waited for a hasty rebuff of the comment, but was surprised instead to find his hand carefully removing hers. The sentiment that had come into his eyes seemed oddly troubled, even for his usually serious nature. She had sensed it on him earlier in the day and written it off as his typical brooding—and yet there it was again.

“I _do_ mean what I said the other evening, even if you won't listen to me. If having the police after you is something you don't want—and believe me, I would just as happily have you not involved...”

 _Not this subject again_ , she groaned inwardly.

“—then I suggest we dissolve this partnership. What I know and what I'm good at will only ever be of use for one thing. You on the other hand, _you_ could be happy and successful with a legitimate life.”

In that moment she wished very dearly that she wasn't distracted by those concerned blue eyes. If this was what making a deal with the devil was about, she stood absolutely no chance of backing out.

“Y'talk like you've murdered someone, Rey. That's a bit dramatic.”

He shrugged, tapping some ashes to the ground. “Perhaps not _yet_. But what would you say if I did?”

The woman could only continue staring at him with mild annoyance, unaffected by the proposal. “Then I'd say the guy probably had it comin'.”

She wasn't quite sure where he was going with this, but the smirk on his lips had been renewed, and with it an odd sense of relief.

“You're a strange girl, you know. I've said it before, but you continue to prove me right.”

“And what exactly does that make you?” She withdrew her hand to prove a point, though the loss of warmth caused her more discontent than she would have liked to admit.

The man lowered an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but as I understand it to mean, 'strange' is _not_ strictly a negative thing.”

“I got half a mind to call you a lot _more_ than strange.” She folded her arms, sensing the upper hand that she had on the situation slipping. “Who the hell has a place they go _regularly_ to hide from the law? I mean, how didya even find this?”

His smile had faded, returning to thoughtful again as he followed her gesture to the room around them. It was some kind of higher-end apartment; it was on the nicer side of town, after all, where they did much of their “work.” Evidently it had not been inhabited for a long time, though some furniture and other basic decorations had remained.

“If you didn't notice, there's a sign outside that says it is for rent,” he responded, shrugging, as he took a drag. “I was in _need_ of it one day, if you follow, and then it was just a simple matter of working the lock.”

“It's ain't bad, without the ugly furniture.” She had turned her gaze over to a doorway, on the far side of the room, taking a few steps to gain a better vantage of the layout. “I could see myself in somethin' like this—well, maybe someday.”

Her tone had fallen, though it embarrassed her after the fact. The Bostonian girl had always thought of herself as a lover of the finer things in life, but always from a distance, or through the art of fantasizing.

His silence caused her to turn around, slightly uncomfortable with the lack of even a mundane response. He seemed to be brooding again, and his face had become an unreadable mask of apathy. “I can't imagine a woman such as yourself would have difficulty marrying into wealth.”

“Rich guys marry trophy wives, Rey,” she replied flatly. She had found her way to a drawer that had caught her eye, though from his knowing expression toward her, she suspected he had scoured the place long ago. “It's a transaction.”

The smile on her partner's face caused her to pause. Primarily because it was exactly the type of smirking grin that indicated he was about to tease her thoroughly.

“And then, I suppose you are saying that you're _not_ that kind of girl, correct?”

“I don't need some big-shot mob schmuck with a girl at every stop. I'd like to think I'm worth more than that.”

With the second statement, her voice had grown softer again. She noticed his attention was on her now, the smug expression somehow softer as well, and it fed her uncertainty.

“I don't know why I'm tellin' you this though,” she began again, this time with considerably more confidence. “Y'wouldn't see where I'm comin' from. Especially if that's the kinda guy you're climbin' up the ladder to be.”

The silence from the Frenchman disconcerted her, and she noticed his mouth was set in a line around his cigarette. She brushed at her dress, the attempt at being casual lost as she broke the brief moment of quiet. Her eyes were on the door.

“Well, I guess we're probably clear to get outta here. We can get somethin' to eat back on our side of town if y'want.”

He gently took her wrist again as she passed by him, his expression oddly peaceful. Sincere, even, and without the usual sarcasm he wore, she almost felt taken aback.

“Kathryn?”

She stood still, meeting his gaze. He soon diverted, seemingly distracted—or perhaps unsettled.

And then she felt his grip release, tentatively, as though he had reconsidered whatever had come to his mind.

“...no, nevermind. It—is not important.”

He quickly made for the door, leaving smoke in his wake. His hesitation irritated her, because she knew in that moment that she would spend the rest of the night mulling over the question of what he had wanted to say.

But as it was with all things concerning him, it remained hidden in mystery.


End file.
